The Way I Used to Be (26 page)

“Where you been, girlie?” She exhales a stream of smoke and laughs, because she already knows where I've been.

I shrug. “I don't know. Nowhere, really.”

“Hmm,” she mumbles through the cigarette hanging out of her mouth as she picks a few pieces of lint off her sweater. “Nowhere with someone special, perhaps?” she asks, her voice all light and hopeful, thinking maybe I had finally found someone like she had.

“Not anyone special, that's for sure.” I don't know why I say that; I regret it instantly. This isn't parking-lot conversation.

“Well, you know . . . ,” she starts, but looks away, not finishing. She flips her hair over her shoulder and looks out across the parking lot; she'd let the cranberry grow out and now she has these streaks of pink running through her dark hair underneath. She had somehow managed to seamlessly and fully segue out of her dork role into this new cool, unconventional, artsy girl.

And me, well, before it was like you had the girl and then you had the rumors about the girl, but now there's only the girl, because the rumors aren't just rumors anymore, they're the reality—they are the girl.

“Edy, you know Cameron's friend—” she tries again, but I interrupt before she can even finish.

“No, Mara.”

She flicks her cigarette against the side mirror over and over, not looking at me.

“Sorry, I just—I'm really not interested. Thanks anyway, though.”

“Okay. Yeah, I know. It's fine. Whatever.” She slides her sunglasses from the top of her head to her eyes, letting her bangs fall down into her face. “What do you wanna do tonight?”

“I thought you'd be busy with Cameron—date night and all?”

“No. He's hanging out with Steve tonight.” She pauses. “You know, Edy, Steve really is a good guy, and he —”

“Yeah, I know,” I interrupt again. “Really, I'm not looking for that. Not with anyone. And most of all not with Stephen Reinheiser, okay?”

“All right, all right. Girls' night in, then?” She smiles, raising her eyebrows. “We haven't done that in so long, it'll be great. We can order takeout and have a movie marathon?” She laughs, staring out at the emptying parking lot. “Sounds fun, right?” she asks, nodding her head enthusiastically as she slides into the driver's side, closing the car door on our conversation.

Like always, we split another cigarette and keep the music just loud enough to drown out our thoughts, to silence the things we should be saying to each other.

When we get to my house, she turns to face me. “How 'bout you come over after dinner? Maybe you could . . . I don't know, procure us some refreshments?” she hints with a smile.

“Got it covered,” I assure her. The gas station guy has become more partial to me than Mara ever since her nose ring and pink streaks; his tastes are a little more conventional, I suppose.

My house is quiet. The sound of Mara's car pulling out of the driveway fades to silence. And leaves everything feeling too still, too vacant. Empty, haunted—this house. Not by ghosts, but by us, by our own history, by the things that have happened here.

I choose the cracked ceramic mug from the cupboard—the one with flowers on it that no one uses anymore—and fill it halfway with the gin Vanessa keeps at the back of the spice cabinet, as if the mint leaves, and cayenne, and cream of tartar can hide the thick glass bottle, or its contents, or the reason she needs it to be there in the first place. I take my cracked mug into the living room, turn the TV up loud, close my eyes, and just float.

When my eyes open again, the shadows in the room have shifted. The mug is nearly tipped over, my hand slack around its cylinder body. I sit up to see the clock: 5:48. Vanessa and Conner will be getting home any minute. I take the last gulp of gin and swish it around my mouth. I carefully rinse out the mug and put it in the dishwasher. Then I dump my books out of my backpack onto my bedroom floor and throw in a change of clothes, my toothbrush, hair stuff, and makeup. I find the notepad on the kitchen table, with Vanessa's note from last weekend scribbled in blue pen:

Went to the store. Leftovers in fridge.

Love, Mom

I rip out the page and begin a new one. Our preferred method of communication these days.

Sleeping at Mara's. Call you in the morning.

—E

THE NIGHT IS A
total blur. We didn't order takeout. We didn't watch movies. We just sat on Mara's bedroom floor and drank. And drank. And drank until there was nothing left.

“Morning,” Mara mumbles as I sit up too fast.

“Oh God, my head. Not so loud,” I grumble. I can't remember whether I fell asleep or passed out.

She gets up from the floor, wobbly, and stands in front of the mirror licking her hand and wiping the mascara stains from under her eyes. I follow her out of her room and down the stairs to the kitchen like a shadow.

“Are you hungry?” she asks me, opening and closing the cupboard doors, trying to find something edible.

“A little, I guess.”

She carries an assortment of cereal boxes to the table. I get the bowls and spoons and skim milk from her fridge.

“So, I have an idea—a plan—if you'll just please think about it for at least ten seconds before you say no,” she tells me as we sit at the little breakfast nook her father built when we were kids.

I pour my Cap'n Crunch with Crunch Berries. The clinking sounds of the small pinkish-red spheres and the pillow-puff-shaped corn-oat amalgams falling against the ceramic bowl echo through the empty kitchen.

“Edy?” Mara says.

“Oh, what?” I pretend I didn't hear; I'm much too busy pouring my skim milk.

“I said I want you to listen to this idea I have.”

The spoon dives in; I put it in my mouth. I chew. Chew, chew, chew. I swallow. “Yeah, okay, I'm listening.”

“Good. I want you to come out with us tonight.”

I stop chewing. I stop blinking. I stop breathing. “Uff?” I mumble through my mouthful of cereal. Swallow hard, try again. “Us?”

“Yeah, with me and Cameron. We're going to the mall.” She smiles as if that's not the most absurd thing she's ever said.

It takes me a few seconds to recover. “With Cameron? To the mall? You're kidding, right?”

“I know it's lame, Edy, but we're going to the movies and we would only have to walk through a small, tiny little baby section of the mall to get there, okay?”

“Mara, why? We've tried this before. Cameron and I do not like each other. Please accept that.”

“Well, it's not just that,” she begins slowly. “Steve's coming too.”

I wonder how Cap'n Crunch would taste with a little splash of vodka, or maybe half the bottle.

“So, will you come, Eeds, pleeease, pwetty, pwetty pwease?” She clasps her hands together and gives me her best doe-eyed pouty face.

“But this is like a date, right? You're trying to set me up on a date. At the movies. That's just pathetic. What is this, middle school?”

“Seriously, I think it'll be great!” She smiles at me like she actually believes what she's saying.

“Okay, Mara. Look, we no longer party like we used to, or hang out with guys who are trouble. In fact, I barely even get to see you anymore. I've done a lot to accommodate you and little Cameron-two-shoes, including putting up with Steve constantly hanging around. So please, please, please, I beg you—not the mall.”

Her smile fades, her face crinkling with frustration. “He's cool and nice and sweet, okay? And cute, so stop being all judge-y.”

“Oh my God.” I sigh.

“He is,” she whines. “And he's perfect for you.”

“I don't know why we're still talking about this—I told you already—not interested.”

“Why?” she asks, pretending to be surprised.

“Because, Mara, I'm not going to fucking double-date with you and fucking Cameron, okay?” Too harsh, my tone, I know. I can't help it though.

“Well, excuse me—God, Edy, you can be so mean sometimes! You know, I already promised Steve you would come. And besides, you owe me.”

“How do I owe you?”

“Please, I've covered for you more times than I can even count—probably more times than you even know!”

I stand up with my cereal bowl in hand; I walk over to the sink and dump the excess milk down the drain. “I can't. I'm sorry.”

“Thanks a lot, Edy. Way to be there for me. I never ask you for anything!” She crosses her arms and jerks herself back in her chair, pouting like she's a twelve-year-old.

I stand there, trying to calculate how serious she is, how mad she would be if I bail. “Oh God,” I moan. “Look, I'll go with you, but please just make it very clear this is not a date.”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

“I have to go.”

“Wait, don't go,” she says, standing up like she might actually try to stop me.

“No, I told Vanessa I'd help her do something.” But that's a lie. I scrape my soggy cereal into the garbage can under the sink. “Just call me later and let me know what time I should meet you.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“I'm sorry.” I relent, realizing how nasty I'm being. “I'm not mad. I'm just hungover, you know, I need a cigarette, my head hurts.”

I don't bother getting dressed, or brushing my hair or even my teeth. I just grab my backpack and jacket and I'm out the door as quickly as possible. Mara's house is the one place in the world I've never been in a hurry to leave. But things change all the time. As I take steps farther away from her, the sidewalk seems a little unstable under my feet. I cut through two backyards and have to outrun a rabid terrier just to avoid walking past Kevin's house—Amanda's house.

I stand outside the food court, sure to be early—a peace offering for Mara—proof that I'm not above going to the mall if it truly means that much to her. I sit on the edge of a big concrete planter near the drop-off area and light a cigarette. I notice my hand shaking as I bring it to my lips. I feel on edge. Nervous. I'm dreading this entire night. It's just too wholesome and purposeless. I switch my cigarette to my other hand, but this one shakes so frantically, it slips right through my fingers. I have to jump to my feet so it doesn't fall into my lap and burn me.

Just as I'm brushing the ashes from my coat sleeve, Mara's voice startles me: “You all right, there?”

“Oh!” I gasp. “Hey. Yeah, I just dropped my—whatever, never mind—hi.”

“Hey.” Cameron raises the hand that's conjoined with Mara's, black nail polish peeling from his fingernails. “Glad you could come with,” he lies. The streetlight glints off a metal ball inside his mouth as he talks, off the rings curled around his bottom lip and left eyebrow. “Steve's parking.”

As we stand there waiting, Mara grimaces through a smile, as if to tell me to play nice. Then I see Steve power walking through the parking lot in his sweater-vest—his wallet chain all shiny, dangling from his back pocket, his Converse sneakers too clean. Like he's dressed for a date. He hasn't even arrived and already he's trying too hard. “Hi, Eden!” He waves as he approaches us, smiling so hugely.

“Hey.” I try not to sigh too loudly.

During the movie Mara and Cameron hold hands. She leans her head on his shoulder. He kisses her forehead, then gives me an awkward smile when he catches me staring. I turn to look at Steve next to me. He smiles shyly and focuses intently on the movie screen. There are few things in this world that will make you feel like more of a loser than this.

The movie's in French, with subtitles. I guess Mara forgot to mention that part. After the first five minutes I've stopped reading them altogether. At some point I shut my eyes instead. And right in that space between being asleep and being awake, I hear my own voice, whining: “No, I wanna be the dog—I'm always the dog, Kevin.”

And it's like I'm back there, but not as myself. I'm there as someone else, like a bystander sitting at the table with them, watching her slide into the seat opposite him. It's like I'm watching it in a movie—looking for signs of what's going to happen in only a few hours. He reaches his arm across the kitchen table and places the little metal dog in front of her with a smile. “Thank you,” the girl sings. She can feel her face turning pink, blushing for him.